Sea Shanty
by x-jam-x
Summary: Lucien was expecting adventure when he made the voyage to Vashj'ir. He was not expecting to be assaulted by a giant octopus monster or to be harassed by a deranged, persistent naga obssessed with redemption.
1. Prologue: Overboard

**A/N:** Hello! Welcome to my first WoW fanfiction! I don't know if it's going to go anywhere, but I hope you all enjoy what I write and leave reviews on your way out! They are very encouraging, you see. This story was based on the beginning quests of Vashj'ir, and inspired by my passionate love for naga and hot male blood elves in dresses! -cough- I mean _robes_.

**Warnings? **I'll list them as they arise. However, if there _is_ a main pairing, it will most likely be homosexual of the MalexMale persuasion, so if that makes you twitch or something, you might want to look the other way. Don't leave! Just don't read those parts!

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><p><strong>Sea Shanty<strong>

Prologue: Overboard

Lucien had always hated the sea. Perhaps it had to do with the fact that he was a rather poor swimmer, or the fact that he couldn't hold his breath for very long without feeling like his lungs were about to explode. Perhaps it was because he felt helpless underwater fighting against creatures that were so much more adept at undersea life than he. Perhaps it was simply because he loathed the feeling of uncomfortably heavy and soaked robes reeking of seawater.

Or perhaps it was because of the giant sea monster.

"What in Thrall's name is that thing?" an Orc Vanguard from Orgrimmar yelled in barely masked fear as he stared with horror at the giant writhing tentacles that had suddenly appeared just off the starboard bow of the mercenary ship. Lucien, along with a sizable squadron of Hellscream's finest warriors, had been journeying to the newly revealed island of Vashj'ir in order to attempt to claim it for the Horde when they had come across the wreckage of another Orcish vessel. There had been a few survivors, before the sea monster had appeared and had flung them into the sea like broken rag dolls.

"Stand your ground, brothers! Make it bleed!" Legionnaire Nazgrim, the Orc commander, roared over the rush of the churning sea and the screams of the panicked mercenary woman aboard the ship, holding his own battleaxe aloft. The Orcs lined up along the edge of the ship and readied themselves for battle.

The ship pitched violently as the tentacled monster moved unseen beneath the ship's hull, and Lucien winced as he nearly lost his balance. A firm, almost unbearable grip on his bicep stopped him from falling, and he turned to give his companion a grateful smile. Shaaghun, the demon who Lucien chose to accompany him on most of his adventures, merely sneered in reply.

"Watch yourself, _master_," the Fel Guard growled, seemingly undeterred by the roughness of the sea as he charged headfirst into battle with one of the mysterious creature's sinuous tentacles.

"Thank you," the warlock replied with a roll of his luminescent green eyes. He turned to focus on his own target, pulling his staff off of his back and immolating the closest tentacle.

The deck of the ship was filled with complete chaos. The Orcs ran to and fro, trying to keep up with the erratic attacks from the sea monster while the crew of the vessel, a menagerie of strangely assorted characters unsuited for any type of combat, cowered and fled below deck. The yells and battle cries of the warriors blended in with the squelching of sharpened axes hacking through slick flesh and the screams of crewmen and Orcs alike as they were grabbed and flung carelessly into the sea. A fine mist, the result of the constant thrashing of the ship in the writhing sea, made it increasingly difficult to see.

Shaaghun, yellow teeth bared and covered in the green blood of whatever they were fighting, grunted in satisfaction as the slithering appendage he had been mercilessly hacking into retreated back into the water. He turned to check on the progress of his master - the weak blood elf might need his help - and froze in horror.

"Master!" was the only warning that Lucien received before a tentacle suddenly wrapped around his waist and yanked him off the ship. Lucien hated the air almost as much as he hated the sea. He loathed the feeling of weightlessness, of being at the mercy of a force which he could not control. He hated the sense of breathlessness that came with the fall, the heart-wrenching feeling of panic that he could never stave off. He probably yelled, but he was too terrified to remember, and, once he hit the water, everything just seemed to fade away.

Beneath the turbulent surface of the sea, the water was thick with dozens of vile naga. They swarmed like a hive of angered bees, snatching up drowning warriors and carrying them off into the abyss while their monster, an octopus the size of which no mortal had ever seen, proceeded to drag the mercenary vessel into the depths below.

Lucien's unconscious form bobbed this way and that in the undulating current, rocked and buffeted by uncaring naga who passed him lugging their half dead burdens. One of the naga, who stood apart from the others in that he lacked the excited frenzy of his brothers, swam close to the warlock and circled him slowly.

"Interesting," he hissed softly under his breath. "I've heard great stories about you, softskin, great stories indeed. You may be the most powerful warlock of our age. I've been waiting for someone like you for a long time..."

"Setheriss," a sibilant voice from behind him caused the naga to turn. Another naga floated in the water nearby, an Orc tossed carelessly over his shoulder. "A fine specimen you have there...I'm sure our Lady will be pleased with your efforts."

"Thank you, Razhja. I'll be sure to bring this land dweller to the Clutch immediately to be put to work."

"Good, excellent. It is only a matter of time before our Lady's plans come to fruition and we become the true masters of the sea!" Razjha chuckled to himself as he took his leave, not minding (indeed, perhaps it was on purpose) if his charge dragged along the sea floor and ran into various flotsam and jetsam as he went.

Setheriss sneered derisively at the retreating naga's back before turning and swimming purposefully in the opposite direction, cradling the warlock carefully in his arms. "Fool," he hissed into the lonely depths of the sea. "I have much bigger plans for this softskin..."

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><p>And Happy New Year, by the way! - Jam<p> 


	2. Chapter I: The Serpent and the Sea

**A/N: **Hello! I'm happy to say that the first chapter is significantly longer than the prologue! I realized that I forgot something terribly important in the first chapter. Like...a disclaimer.

**Disclaimer: **I don't own World of Warcraft, and any familiar concepts (like...zones and races and NPCs and whatnot...) all belong to Blizz. I do own Lucien, because I pay $15 a month for his fine belf self, and own other various OCs...

In closing, I hope you all like the next segement of Sea Shanty, and that you all leave reviews on your way out! Look at typing a review as a way of exercising your fingers. And thank you, _Eyes like Dawn_. for the review. ^^

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><p><strong>Sea Shanty<strong>

Chapter I: The Serpent and the Sea

When Lucien finally began to regain consciousness, it was a slow and arduous process. His body woke before his mind and, though he could process that he was cold, wet, and uncomfortably under-dressed, he couldn't understand or remember why for some time. When his mind did wake, it was quickly and quite suddenly, almost painfully. The warlock snapped into awareness and into a sitting position with a jerk, and winced when the abruptness of the movement caused his head to spin.

First, he began to sort out his senses; he was cold because he was wet, and he was wet because, if he remembered correctly, the mercenary ship had been ambushed by a horrible tentacled monster and Lucien had been thrown overboard. Someone must have saved him, the blood elf thought, and had dragged him to the cave which he now was in. It was a small cave with a sand-covered floor and walls made of a strange salmon-colored stone that Lucien had never seen before. The space was lit by a merrily burning campfire not too far away, and the warlock could see that his heavy outer robes had been removed and placed by the fire to dry. There were no obvious exits to the cave, but the pool of water on one side led the elf to believe that he was inside an underwater cave.

He hoped that the others, both the mercenary crew and his Orcish comrades, had managed to make it to safety as well. Although, the battle had been going rather poorly for them when Lucien had lost consciousness.

Lucien stood and made his way closer to the warmth of the fire, brushing sand off of his undershirt and cloth pants as he went. He dug through the pile of clothes by the fire, finding his gloves, cloak, and other bits of his armor easily, but unable to find his staff or the trinkets that he used to make his magical spells more potent.

As he was rummaging, the sound of water churning and splashing came from behinds him, and Lucien turned to see who it was exactly who had saved him from a watery grave.

"I see that you're awake. That's good. I was worried you might have been underwater too long," the naga that had emerged from the water smiled as he said this, or at least the raven-haired warlock assumed it was a smile. Each one of the evil creature's serrated, needle-like teeth were bared, and his sickly yellow eyes glowed faintly with something akin to relief. Lucien must have hit his head on something when the sea monster had tossed him.

"What have you done with the others?" the elf demanded immediately, backing up toward the fire and putting as much distance as possible between himself and the deformed Highborne. The sight of the naga definitely explained the presence of the sea monster, and explained why all of the other ships of the Horde and Alliance alike never returned from Vashj'ir.

"You should worry more for yourself, softskin," and here the green-scaled aberration's smile turned sinister and familiar. He slithered closer, his powerful, serpentine body pushing easily through the wet sand, and Lucien backed up until the roughness of the pink-colored wall dug uncomfortably into his spine. While on any other day, the warlock would have felt confident in his ability to defeat a single naga, he knew he was no match for him now. He was exhausted, the ordeal with the sea monster having taken a heavy toll on him, and his most important gear had been taken. He didn't even have the energy for a basic summoning spell. He was completely powerless, and they both knew it.

"I've been waiting for you for a very long time, Lucien 'Black Heart,'" the naga hissed, finally coming to a stop mere feet away from the raven-haired elf. "Too long..."

Lucien narrowed his eyes, an uncomfortable and unwanted shiver running down his spine. "How do you know my name?"

The naga smiled again, if it could be called that, and this time it was truly sinister. Out of all of Azeroth's many denizens, it was the naga who Lucien could stand the least. He could honestly admit that they were the only creatures that terrified him, but it wasn't for the reasons most people thought.

The naga had been elves once. Night elves, yes, but abusers of arcane magic, just like the blood elves. Lucien could see his own race's past reflected in the serpentine eyes of every naga. He could see a possible, terrible fate for the sin'dorei every time he glimpsed a beautiful, elven face buried beneath a layer of rough, reptilian scales. The fate of the naga struck a chord in Lucien, and filled him with a sense of fear and dread not even the sight of Deathwing could incite.

"I know much about you, 'Black Heart,'" the naga said with a laugh that sounded like sandpaper being dragged over coral.

"Don't call me that." That name was riddled with nothing but dark memories.

"My apologies," said the serpent, his eyes narrowing curiously even as they sparked with amusement. "I've been rude, haven't I? I haven't even properly introduced myself. My name is Setheriss, and as long as you cooperate with me, you'll leave this cave very much alive. I have no desire to hurt you."

Lucien scoffed derisively and pushed himself away from the stone wall, even if it did put him closer to the naga. He hated feeling as if he were cowering, even if that was exactly what he was sorely tempted to do. He held his chin up and stood his full height, ignoring the fact that it was a full head shorter than the green-skinned naga before him, and, when he spoke, he made sure to sound more confident than he really was. "Why should I believe any lies that come out of a snake's mouth?"

The naga, Setheriss, finally backed up some, putting some much needed space between himself and Lucien. He turned and slithered toward the fire, smirking over his bare shoulder at the elf as he went. "You don't have much of a choice, softskin. You think you can escape from me? Even at your full strength, with all of your worthless trinkets, you would be no match for me. And should you somehow manage to escape, do you know what lies between you and freedom on the surface?

"Certain death," the naga continued when it was obvious that Lucien didn't plan on replying. "We have survived the cruel seas for thousands of years while your pathetic race splashed in miniscule puddles upon the surface. There are creatures down here beyond your imagining. That beast that tore your ship to shreds is merely one of thousands of such monsters that stand between you and freedom. Before you can even see the light of the surface, some creature will come upon you and rend the flesh from your bones, if you don't just suffocate first."

"What do you want with me?" Lucien asked, trying not to show just how much Setheriss's little speech had affected him. It was as if the terrible creature had known every one of his fears of the water and had played them like a musician played an instrument.

Setheriss's smile was almost kind, if such an emotion was possible in such an evil creature. He came close once more, a clawed, rough-scaled hand coming up to grip Lucien's chin and force the elf to look him in the eyes. The naga's dull yellow, snake-like eyes roved almost reverently over the near feminine features of Lucien's face, lingering too much for Lucien's liking on the soft line of his mouth. A shiver of disgust ran down the elf's spine at the deformed Highborne's touch; but no matter how hard he tried, he could not break the naga's grip.

"I used to be like you," Setheriss barely whispered. "After less than a hundred years, my brothers and sisters adapted to damnation under the sea. They grew to love it, in fact, and considered being turned into cold-blooded aberrations to be a blessing. They turned their backs on the surface and cursed it. They shed their old lives and embraced an existence based on selfishness and hatred.

"They forgot what life was like on the surface. They forgot the fresh smell of Spring and the feeling of grass beneath bare feet. They forgot how to feel anything other than hate, contempt, and greed. They forgot how to enjoy life. And my curse is that I cannot join them! I can't forget, and the memories of what I've lost haunt my dreams and what's left of my waking mind!"

The naga grabbed Lucien painfully by the shoulders, pushing him back into the stone wall and seemingly beginning to lose himself in his despair. Setheriss's sibilant voice rose in pitch with every declaration, and his eyes had begun to glow with an almost feverish light.

"I'm sick of the sea!" Setheriss hissed, his tail lashing violently behind him. He was so close now that the muzzle of his dragonesque nose was mere inches away from Lucien's own, and the blood elf could smell the sea on every one of his ragged breaths. "Damn Azhara and her curse; I never wanted any of this! I didn't become a mage so that I could summon a demon and end the world! But by the time I realized what was happening, it was already too late. I was damned, just like the rest of those arrogant fools; cursed to suffer what might be eternity in this malformed body, mind slipping and powers stripped from me. But no longer..."

"I'm sorry, really," Lucien said, which was mostly true. If the naga was telling the truth, then he really might have started out innocent, unlike the other naga who had begun as corrupt night elves and had only grown worse over the millennia. But he could only hold so much sympathy for someone who had kidnapped him and done who knows what with the others who had ventured to Vashj'ir that fateful day. "But what has any of this got to do with me?"

"'Curse' is the operative word, warlock," the naga explained. He seemed to have calmed down somewhat, Lucien noted with relief, but the disturbing light in his eyes had not diminished. "When the Sundering tore the world apart and we were cast into the sea, my _Lady_ Azhara begged for help. It was an Old God who answered her, and it's their curse we suffer from. A curse made me the way I am, and who better to reverse the effects than a master of curses?"

"I can't do anything for you!" Lucien tried again to break the naga's grip on him, but he was a master of magic, of defeating foes from a distance, and he lacked the strength to budge the more powerful being even an inch. It was one thing to be captured by the enemy, but now he was deftly afraid that his captor was completely insane. Not even the Titans had been able to cure the creatures of Azeroth of the Old God's Curse; what made him think that Lucien, a mere mortal, could do better? "What you need is a druid or a mage; someone who actually specializes in decursing. I just apply curses - I don't concern myself with their removal!"

"A curse this powerful, this ancient, can't just be removed with a simple spell," Setheriss spat with contempt. "It takes work, and time. It needs to be unraveled, piece by piece. Only a warlock could ever hope to know enough about curses to even have a chance at breaking this one, and you're the most powerful warlock alive!"

"I don't know who you've been talking to, but I'm not as great as you seem to think I am. I'm no match for an Old God. I can't help you!"

"You're my only chance! You have to try!"

The cave echoed with his final, desperate plea. After a tense paused, Setheriss pushed away with a frustrated hiss and retreated to the water, slipping beneath the surface and into the sea before Lucien even had the chance to blink. Without the serpent pressing him into the wall, Lucien slid to the floor slowly, sat heavily, and pressed the heels of his hands into his eyes. He felt both terribly frustrated and strangely sad. The cause of his frustration was obvious: he was trapped who knows where in the depths of the ocean with a disturbed naga who seemed convinced that Lucien was some kind of savior. While he was flattered that someone seemed to have that sort of blind faith in him, he knew that what the naga was asking him was an impossible feat.

And the sadness was also easily enough explained. He felt sorry for the pitiful creature and, yes, he even felt regret that he wasn't able to help him. If Setheriss had been telling the truth, which Lucien suspected he had, then the naga had spent the last ten thousand years suffering in his own personal hell under the sea. Strangely, it reminded the blood elf of Illidan Stormrage, who, even after ten thousand years of imprisonment by his own brother, had still had enough good in his heart to help the woman he still loved.

But Setheriss couldn't be saved, and Lucien had to focus on people he could help. While he was certain by now that Setheriss wasn't directly responsible for the attack on the ship, and had rather merely used it to his own advantage, that still left the fates of the Orcs and mercenary crew a mystery. Had they somehow managed to survive, or had they all perished in the sea? The blood elf doubted that Setheriss would provide him with answers. He had to find a means of escape, discover the fate of his comrades, and somehow warn Hellscream of the naga and their power before he unwittingly sentenced any more soldiers to their doom.

But there was no sense throwing himself to the tender mercies of the sea now, when he was still so weak. The naga, convinced as he was that Lucien could save him, wouldn't allow Lucien to die while he was stuck here. He would stay long enough to rejuvenate and gain back some of his strength before he dived into the ocean and hoped for the best. He stood and made his way back to the fire, laid his robe out like a blanket, and tried to sleep.

His sleep was restless. He was plagued by nightmares numerous and varied, but they all shared the same theme. Lucien was trapped in the dark abyss of the deepest depths of the ocean, trying to swim for the glimmer of light above him that signified his freedom but getting nowhere. Finally, after what felt like days, he began making progress, inching toward the surface at an agonizingly slow pace. He would come so close that the tips of his fingers on his outstretched hand would brush tantalizingly against the bottom of the churning waves, before freedom would be yanked away from him. Sometimes it was the monster, shooting up a tentacle from the murky deeps to wrap around his ankle and drag him down. Sometimes it was Setheriss, claws digging into and shredding his robes as he tried to keep the elf from leaving, his eyes fever-bright.

He was ripped from his unpleasant dreams rather unceremoniously by a rough hand on his shoulder shoving him onto his back. Setheriss loomed above him, staring down at him with an intensity that was alarming. "You must be hungry."

"...What?"

"I brought you something to eat, softskin. You're no use to me dead," the naga hissed with a roll of his eyes. Now that he was slightly more alert, Lucien could smell something cooking, and his stomach grumbled eagerly at the possibility of a hot meal. A glance toward the fire revealed something that might have been related to catfish cooking on a spear leaning over the fire.

"I'm no use to you at all, but who am I to turn down a hot meal?" Lucien said, standing so that the height difference between him and the naga wouldn't be quite so drastic. His clothes crunched uncomfortably against his skin, hardened by dried sea water and encrusted with sand, but there wasn't much he could do about it.

Setheriss didn't reply; he merely stood there and watched almost hungrily as Lucien ate in silence, until eventually the blood elf couldn't take it anymore.

"Look, Setheriss...I'd love to help you - really, I would - but I can't! Even if I was powerful enough to help you, which I'm _not_, there's no way I could do anything down here. I'd need to do research, run experiments, gather reagents...I can't do that trapped under the sea!"

Instead of appearing in any way disheartened, Setheriss's yellow eyes shined with renewed eagerness. "But you could do all of that, if I allowed you back on the surface."

"Yes, but-," Lucien froze mid-sentence, an idea hatching in his mind. It had become quite obvious that Setheriss never intended to let him go unless he somehow helped him regain his "humanity," for lack of a better word. But here the fool was offering Lucien his freedom on a silver platter. "But it would take time, of course, and there's no guarantee I could ever break the curse."

"And there's no guarantee that you would ever come back," the naga hissed, his eyes narrowing. Unfortunately, Setheriss wasn't as dumb as he looked. "If I agree to let you leave, how do I know you won't betray me?"

Lucien recoiled as if he had been slapped, the word 'betray' ringing painfully in his ears. Thankfully, it seemed as though Setheriss hadn't noticed the blood elf's odd behavior. "I want an oath," he continued. "A blood oath, so that if you try and betray me, I'll know, and I'll be able to track you down and rip your entrails out through your throat!"

"I won't make a blood oath," the warlock shuddered, remembering the last time he had made such an oath, back in Northrend. After the debacle with Drakuru, he would never be quite so trusting of strangers again. But he should have learned his lesson long before Drakuru… "But I can swear to you that I will come back. It'll take time to find a cure, it might take years, but I will come back."

The naga stared at him for a long time, as unmoving as an ancient statue, and Lucien felt as if his very soul were being weighed and measured. After a time, the Highborne bared his needle-sharp teeth and hissed, seemingly in a fit of frustration, and retreated back into the sea. Lucien let out his own scream of frustration, grabbed Setheriss's forgotten spear, and threw it as hard as he could toward the water. The weapon landed harmlessly on the surface of the pool with a soft splash and bobbed there merrily, and the elf's temperament turned downright black. One more day, and he should be strong enough to at least make a decent effort at escape.

Fortunately, it wasn't another day before Setheriss returned, but merely a few hours - though the amount of time felt the same to Lucien, who had spent the time brooding and glaring almost childishly at the salmon-colored wall. The elf glanced up when he heard the water churn and bared his blunt teeth when he saw the naga emerge from the sea, though he wasn't sure who else he had been expecting. Setheriss stayed by the water didn't try to come any closer, which surprised and relieved the warlock.

"I'm letting you go," the serpent said. His simple words seemed to reverberate of the walls of the cave.

"...What?"

The naga let out an exasperated sigh and folded his scaly arms over his chest. "I'm beginning to question your intelligence, softskin. You heard me. We're at an impasse, you and I. In order for you to help me, I need to let you leave, but once you leave, there's nothing to stop you from deserting me. If I keep you here, I'm resigning myself to be stuck like this for ten thousand more years of suffering, which I will not tolerate. I'll rip out my own heart first. But if I let you leave, there's a small chance that I can be myself again, that I can walk on land with my own two legs again and feel the earth beneath my feet and..." The naga trailed off, panting for air as he had grown increasingly emotional during his speech.

"I'm letting you go," he said after he had composed himself somewhat. "You promised me that you would help me. You _swore_. All I ask is that you tell me right now if that was a lie, so I can put an end to my misery."

A terrible silence stretched between them, one that grew to encompass the entire room and that pressed all of the air out of Lucien's lungs. He looked into the eyes of his captor and saw there emotions that no true devil of the sea could ever truly feel or replicate: loss, sadness, a tentative and fragile hope. He could not look at Setheriss and damn him as a monster because, buried beneath the scales and spines and fins, hidden behind a mask formed over ten thousand years of self-imposed solitude, there was an elf somewhere crying out for help, and what would Lucien be if he turned his back on that? They might call him 'Black Heart' in Orgrimmar, but Lucien's heart still beat for others, no matter how many times it was stepped on.

"I'll help you…"

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><p>I shall try to update once a week. Now, because I said that, the next update will probably be three months from now, but hopefully I haven't jinxed myself... - Jam<p> 


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